Dissidence
by Faded Nights
Summary: Meeting his parents went about as well as she expected it would. Draco/Hermione


Standard disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related names and articles are copyright J. K. Rowling and Warner Brothers.

Wrote this because the idea was hanging around and I really needed to bust some writer's block. Enjoy!

Dissidence

It was hopeless to try and pinpoint exactly when the attraction had begun. She figured, though, that it had developed sometime in sixth year, what with Harry's obsession constantly bringing the conversation around to whatever he might have been doing at that moment, and his—and subsequently, her—attention being drawn to the Slytherin table at almost every meal.

It was a _bad_ attraction for her to have. Dangerous, especially for someone like her, and she knew it. Then again, she hadn't thought in a _million years_ that it would ever amount to anything. A stupid crush on the bad boy when she _knew_ better, and one that she really should have grown out of almost as soon as she realised what her feelings were.

But now it had been two years, and however it had happened, through the end of the war and the fall of Voldemort and the clearing of only _his _family out of all of them, she stood here now.

"Scared?" he murmured. She looked up at him, knowing her eyes were wide and her face was pale and her breathing was shaky. Two years, and his parents apparently didn't have a clue—at least, that's what he said.

"Your father is going to kill me," she said.

"My father isn't going to touch you." He sounded so sure of himself that she could only roll her eyes, jabbing him in the side with her elbow as she did. He rubbed the spot and glared at her. "What?" he asked, aristocratic arrogance slipping into his voice, haughty at the idea that she might think she knew his father better than he did.

Maybe she didn't, but she wasn't nearly as sure of his father's indifference as he was.

"Your mother, then."

He snorted. "My mother's a lamb."

Taking a step back, she stared up at him, letting her sceptical expression say everything. He just raised an eyebrow.

"Have you _met_ your mother?" she demanded. "She is not a lamb!"

He waved a hand, dismissing her worry. "You've only ever seen her public persona. Trust me, 'Mione. My mother is a lamb."

"Your mother is a _Black_."

"My mother is a Malfoy."

"A combination of both, then, as though that makes it any better at all!"

He laughed, drew her in against his side again and kissed the top of her head. "I didn't realise you were so worried about this."

Hermione looked down at the rings sparkling on her hand. "_I_ didn't realise you thought your parents were going to be wholly welcoming of our _elopement_."

"We didn't elope. It was a private ceremony with friends. Your parents were there."

"Fine. _You_ just eloped, then."

He shrugged and looked up at the great gates that marked the entrance to the manor grounds. They'd been stopped, standing outside of them for nearly half an hour now, absolutely stalled in their progress. He was more worried than he was letting on—whatever he thought, however good he was at separating himself from his feelings, she could read him well.

"S'not like you're really all that concerned about the inheritance anyway, right?"

"_Draco_. You haven't worked a day in your life."

"What does that matter?"

She sighed, rolling her eyes again and laying her head on his shoulder. "You're really fine with all of this?"

"Hermione, from the day we first kissed I knew I was risking the alienation of my family. I don't care."

"You do. You love your mother."

He sighed. "Come on, let's go in. We'll slip in through a side entrance and go straight for my suite."

"Your _suite?_ Just how big is this house?" she asked, standing on tiptoe to try and get a look at the wings that the hedge walls were hiding.

He shrugged, apparently not even aware of how his words sounded. Big surprise. "Smaller than Hogwarts, larger than the beach house in France."

Hermione had been to the beach house—just once, six months prior, because Draco had wanted to get away for a little while and the "house" was basically entirely for his personal use. That Draco still called it a house, when she had asserted that, with three kitchens, it couldn't be anything smaller than a mansion, said a lot about the size of the manor.

"We don't need to go anywhere near the drawing room, do we?"

He stopped walking at that, catching up her hand and squeezing it, then wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her right up against him. "I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair. "I'd forgotten."

"Was that a yes?" she asked, pushing back a bit so she could look up into his eyes instead of talking into his robes.

"We'll avoid it," he replied. "Mother's had it closed for a while for updating anyway. It doesn't carry the best memories for her either, anymore."

The side entrance Draco led her in through took them through the rose garden, Hermione gaping at the albino peacocks wandering around, Draco ignoring them in favour of trying to keep her attention on him. Once inside he pressed her against the door, tilting her head up for a kiss that made her laugh softly at the end of it.

"What?" she asked, knowing that he was looking for reassurance more than anything else.

"Your friends accepted this."

"Eventually."

"There's no reason for my parents not to."

"Draco…" she sighed and shook her head, reaching up to cup his cheek and smile. "Whatever happens…"

"My father can be cruel. I don't want—"

"_Can _be?"

He glowered at her.

"Well I'm sorry if my parents aren't—" he stopped speaking abruptly when her eyebrows climbed up her face, and she watched him consciously choose different words. "—going to be immensely grateful that I'm just still _here_."

She'd brought her parents back from Australia and renewed their memories just before the wedding. He wasn't even over-exaggerating.

"I think they ought to be," Hermione quipped. He looked at her, clearly not following her train of thought. "Well you've married me, haven't you? And while you clearly think they're going to come around—however long that might take—you could just as easily have taken up and left and never seen them again."

Draco shook his head, looking amused. "Like you said. I love my mother. And I love her far too much to do that to her."

"And you like not having to work."

"Listen here, you little minx," he said. She scampered away, laughing, not really paying attention to her surroundings beyond registering that they were very rich. "I know that you think I—"

"What did you say to Professor Snape when you were called for career counselling in fifth year, again?"

"Snape didn't bother scheduling an appointment with me," Draco said, folding his arms across his chest. "As you well know."

She shook her head, falling back into a chair, still laughing. "That was horribly irresponsible of him, considering your father went to Azkaban at the end of that year."

"The fortune was safe," he replied.

Hermione scowled at that.

"What?"

"The laws that make it so Pureblood families can do no wrong need to go."

"Yes, I know. Equality and whatever."

"Draco! I'm serious!"

He perched on the arm of the chair beside her. "And this seriously _isn't_ the conversation to be having in this house. The walls have ears, 'Mione."

She looked around, not doubting for a moment the truth of that. "Fine."

"That was something else I wanted to talk about…" he started. She trained her gaze on him, expectantly, and he grimaced. "You make me feel like I should have prepared this a bit better, looking at me like you want to take notes."

She swatted at his shoulder. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Finding a larger residence than the flat until we take over the mansion," he said after a long moment of hesitation.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, unable to imagine actually living in this huge house, even though she had known from the beginning that it was part of the package.

A _Malfoy_. What had she been _thinking_?

"What, seven years living under the lake and my _flat_ is too cramped for you? At least it has windows."

"Hermione."

"I thought we came here to talk to your parents."

"We did. Over dinner. Which won't be served for another," he pulled his watch from a pocket of his robe and flipped open the lid, then slid it away a moment later, "twenty minutes."

Hermione felt the colour rush from her face again at the reminder of where she was and _why_ they were there. She smoothed the lap of her dress robes, nervously biting the corner of her lip.

"So who, _exactly,_ do your parents think they're meeting tonight?"

For the first time, Draco looked more uncomfortable than she felt, and she narrowed her eyes, prompting him with his name.

"Draco. I already know they don't realise they're meeting your wife."

"Girlfriend," he muttered. "Early stages. Three months or so."

"Draco Malfoy!"

"_What?_ What was I supposed to tell them!"

Hermione groaned, letting her head fall into her hands. She felt Draco's hand fall onto her shoulder to begin stroking it a moment later.

"I'm going to walk in there and your parents are going to… to… oh I can't even think of anything but it isn't going to be good!" she exclaimed. "It isn't as though they won't know who I am!"

"'Mione, they're not going to care."

"Oh yes, yes they _are._"

"We've had Potter to dinner before—"

"You aren't _married to_ Harry! And he's Harry! There is no comparison to be made!"

"Of course there is. You're the brains of the Sunshine Trio, aren't you? Potter's best friend, the entire reason he made it as far as he did."

"Flattery is not going to get you out of this conversation, Draco."

He grinned. "Point is, my parents might know who you are, and while they probably know more about you than you ever wanted them to know, they're _not_ going to reject you."

Hermione scrubbed a hand across her eyes. "I should never have let you go through with the wedding until your parents were told."

"It's done, Hermione." She leaned into his hand, still stroking her shoulder.

"We both know that your father would barely have to flick his wand to undo it."

He smiled at her. "It's not going to happen. Come on, we have just enough time to get down there before the meal's served."

Groaning, Hermione stood, pulling out her wand to run a charm across her robes to get rid of any wrinkles they might have picked up while she'd been sitting.

"You look beautiful," Draco murmured. "Don't worry. Come on."

The walk through the manor, from Draco's suite to the large formal dining room, was far too short. Once they were standing just outside of the large double doors to the room, it was probably only Draco's hand on the small of her back that stopped her from turning and running. And it was definitely only his hand that stopped her from Disapparating on the spot.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, her _in-laws_, were sitting just beyond this door.

"Dear Merlin save me," she muttered under the breath. Draco laughed softly, stepping around her and opening one of the doors to precede her into the room. She heard them greet him in unison, Narcissa's voice lilting above Lucius' gruffer greeting. "Draco," Hermione whispered. "I think I'm going to—"

"You're fine," he said lowly. Then he was crossing the room, speaking and out of her line of sight. "Mother, father. There's something I haven't been entirely truthful about with you."

Hermione groaned, resting her forehead against the door as Narcissa asked Draco where his girlfriend was. Damn Draco and his sense of family. Couldn't they just go through this with his parents believing their relationship was whatever they'd been told before?

"That's… what I wanted to clear up," Draco said.

_'I'm dead. I am so dead. Harry was right. Ron was right. Mum was right. I should not have let him avoid this for so long. It's not his skin on the line.'_

"What is it, darling?" Narcissa asked. Hermione frowned as the words reached her ears. Draco had said his mother was a lamb. If that was the tone she always spoke to him in, no wonder he thought that.

Draco let out a hesitant noise, leading to Lucius prompting him with his name.

In her mind's eye, Hermione could see Draco straightening himself in the face of his father's demanding tone.

"I misled you when I arranged this dinner."

Hermione cringed. Maybe she should leave now.

"I didn't want you to meet a girl I'm courting."

Narcissa made a bit of a disturbed noise and Hermione grinned in spite of herself and the situation, wondering if the Malfoy matriarch's mind had put stress on the gendered term instead of 'courting' as her own had.

"Who did you want us to meet, Draco?" Narcissa asked, her words delicate. Hermione could hear more of the tone she was used to from the woman.

"Mother, father," he paused again, like he was having a hard time getting the words out. Hermione knew Draco didn't have any regrets over marrying her. She could only imagine the expressions his parents had to be wearing to make him react the way he was.

"I wanted to introduce you to my wife."

Silence.

Then, Narcissa saying, "Draco, love, really."

"I have the papers if you want to see them, Mother."

Hermione figured she had probably missed her cue to enter the room, and so she had already started moving when Lucius asked, "Who is she, Draco?" in a tone that said he wasn't at all surprised by his son's actions.

Hermione was glad she saw Lucius and Narcissa at the same moment they saw her. She hadn't expected the dumbstruck looks she garnered, and they sent a wave of amusement through her that allowed her to keep walking across the room until she was standing next to Draco.

Ignoring his parents, who still hadn't recovered, he pulled out a chair so she could sit down, taking a seat a moment later at the foot of the table right near her so he was sitting across from his father.

Lucius recovered first. "Miss Granger," he said stiffly.

"Lucius," Narcissa chided. Then addressed Hermione, "I suspect it's—"

"Hermione kept her maiden name," Draco interrupted. Narcissa's lips twisted.

"Hermione Malfoy sounds ridiculous," she explained, not really sure why she felt the need. "Though I still might…" Catching Draco's eye, she trailed off.

"I've explained to Hermione the rituals involved if she takes the Malfoy name."

"The rituals won't be possible," Lucius stated. His voice was still stiff. "She isn't pureblood."

Hermione had expected to be spoken about as though she wasn't sitting right there and listening. She'd expected that all they would care about was her family background. She hadn't expected that Draco had _actually_ thought they would immediately overlook it.

"What's it matter?" he demanded.

Hermione reached across the table and put her fingers on his wrist, knowing the answer to the question—and surprised Draco didn't—but more than willing to let this conversation just be between him and his parents.

"The rituals would involve Hermione's parents as well, Draco," Narcissa replied. "They would, quite plainly, be dangerous for Muggles to endure."

"And they wouldn't work," Lucius said.

"So get rid of the need for the rituals," Draco demanded. Hermione cringed at the childish tone to his voice.

"Hundreds of years of tradition can't just—"

Draco stood, his hands planted on the table and his chair scraping loudly against the floor when his legs pushed it back. "I don't _care_ about the traditions!"

"Lucius," Narcissa snapped when it looked for a moment as though he was going to join his son in standing and shouting. Her lips were pursed, expression set and stony as she looked up and down the table, and Hermione was suddenly reminded that this was the woman who had stared Voldemort down and lied to his face in order to protect her family.

No matter what Draco might say, Narcissa Malfoy was not a lamb.

"Draco, sit down. This can be discussed at a more appropriate time."

Draco sat, looking annoyed at the chastisement. A house elf came over a moment later with salads, sitting them down in front of each of them. Hermione glared at Draco, who pointedly ignored her. He didn't understand her interest in house elf rights, though he'd heard enough about it.

Hermione started in on her salad after the others, not really clear on the etiquette that might be involved in eating with a Wizarding family this obsessed with traditional ways. No matter how much reading she'd done to try and prepare herself for this dinner, none of it had really told her how to behave when meeting her husband's Pureblood-fanatic parents for the first time. Following everyone else's lead seemed safest right now.

Lucius and Narcissa were talking lowly amongst themselves at the other end of the table, their voices not carrying far enough for Hermione to make out any more than a murmur. Draco looked uninterested in what his parents might be talking about, focused as he was on the salad, carefully picking things like chunks of cheese and carrots up on his fork and avoiding the lettuce and onions that were in it. Hermione shook her head slightly, appreciating everything that was in the salad because something in the dressing was absolutely delicious and unlike anything she'd tasted before.

"Alright?" Draco murmured, pausing after he'd picked everything decent out of the salad and reaching for his goblet of wine. The goblets were crystal, the silverware real silver, the plates bone china with gold inlay. The Malfoys didn't flash their money at all.

"Fine," she replied.

"You're sure?"

"No wands have been pulled. It's going better than I expected."

"Mmm," he murmured, taking another sip of wine.

"Not as well as you'd hoped, though, I assume."

He glanced back toward the head of the table and shook his head.

"I still think Hermione Malfoy sounds terrible," she said. He laughed quietly.

"It has a ring to it."

"Granger-Malfoy works for me."

Draco wrinkled his nose.

"What?"

"You want to keep your own name, Granger, I'm all for it."

Hermione frowned at him, choosing to pay more attention to the palate cleansing dish the elf brought out next, while she worked through how clearly Draco had believed that his parents would be entirely welcoming of his choice.

At least she wasn't pregnant—thank _Merlin_ she wasn't pregnant—and they didn't have that hurdle to jump over and confront Lucius and Narcissa with as well.

By the time the main dinner course was brought out some fifteen minutes later, the table had mostly fallen silent. Lucius and Narcissa still exchanged a few words she couldn't make out at their end of the table, but Draco was stormy, cutting through his duck breast with jerky motions instead of the aristocratic flair she was used to.

Hermione, in her study of the other occupants of the table, noticed when Narcissa noticed the state her son was in. Narcissa didn't say anything, though, merely continuing to observe Draco through the meal and going unnoticed by the target of her attention, still too busy glaring at his plate.

"Draco, stay a moment," Narcissa said when they had finished pudding. She had a cup of coffee in front of her, and Lucius was on his second snifter of brandy. Both looked expectant, and Draco, who had risen from his seat just as soon as it was polite, scowled and looked at Hermione, instead of at his mother.

"I'll wait outside," Hermione murmured, nodding to both of his parents and offering them a tight smile before turning and making her way from the dining room.

Even standing just outside of the door, she couldn't make out anything that transpired between Draco and his parents. There was no shouting. Not a single raised voice, in fact, not even Draco's, and Hermione even suspected for a moment that they might have put a silencing charm on the room, but a quick flick of her wand told her there were no such barriers in place.

So when Draco stormed from the room after fifteen minutes or so, barely glancing at her but grabbing her wrist as he made his way past her, Hermione could infer how the conversation had gone but didn't have a clue of any of the details.

"Draco?" she prompted quietly when they were most of the way back to his suite. At least, that's where she thought they were going. The manor was confusing, and he seemed to be taking a different route.

"My parents intend to force an annulment," he spat. She could tell from his voice that he felt betrayed by their decision.

"Draco, we expected this," Hermione reminded him.

"No. _You_ expected this, Hermione. _You_ who have only ever seen my parents as they are in public and who weren't raised by them and exposed to the people they actually are. _I_ didn't expect this. How could they _do_ this!"

He'd stopped dead in the middle of the rant and stood now in the middle of the corridor, looking lost, clearly trying to work through this in his mind but unable to. Head bowed, he brought his hands up to cradle his face, and it was a moment before Hermione realised that his breathing was choked.

"Draco," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. His hands fell from his face and he reached around her to pull her against him, bending so he could rest his forehead on her shoulder. The tears were silent, but she could still hear his breath catch with the effort to keep them that way.

"This is why we didn't tell them we were getting married in the first place," Hermione reminded him.

"Know-it-all," he grunted against her ear.

She smiled. "We'll work this out, Draco."

"How?" he asked miserably. He pulled away to look down at her, his eyes bloodshot, cheeks flushed. "Do you have any idea—"

She pressed a finger to his lips. "How much power your parents have? Draco, Harry Potter is my best friend. Whatever happens, we have more than enough pull to win."

"I don't want to turn this into a war, Hermione."

She glared at him. "If your parents are going to try and force us to annul our marriage, they've already declared war."

He buried his face against her hair, bringing Hermione to sigh and nod to herself. She held him a moment longer before pulling away.

"Where will I find your parents?"

He looked confused for a moment before his eyes widened. "You are _not_ going to confront them. It's a stupid idea and I'm certainly not going to allow it."

Hermione laughed before she could stop herself. "You're not going to _allow_ it?" she repeated. "I'd like to see you _stop_ me. Where will I find your parents, Draco?" She met his glare with an unimpressed look of her own, daring him to refuse her the answer a second time.

He rubbed his forehead. "'Mione," he murmured, voice pleading.

"Draco."

"Fine, I'll take you there. We'll talk to them together."

"No," she replied. "You'll tell me where to go, and I'll figure it out and confront them myself."

He continued to give her that pleading look and Hermione sighed, placing her hand against his cheek. "Weren't you telling me just before dinner that I didn't have anything to worry about from them?"

"That was then," he said gruffly.

She raised her eyebrows. "So we've changed places now?"

"You were all worried before that father or mother was going to kill you over dinner. Now you want to go and see them in private when you _know_ they don't approve."

"Draco, I was panicking. And besides that, after dinner and your little showdown with them, I'm sure it won't be any surprise when I walk in there to speak with them."

He snorted. "My parents are not used to being challenged."

"I can't imagine how, with you as their son," she teased. He gave her a flat look.

"They'll be in the parlour. It's the smaller room down the hall from the dining room."

Rising up on her toes, Hermione pressed her lips to his.

"Thank you," she murmured when she pulled away. "Let me handle this."

Draco didn't look convinced, keeping eye contact with her as she stepped backward down the hall in her retreat, not feeling quite graceful enough to trust she wouldn't trip over the hem of her dress robes, but enjoying the amusement creeping into Draco's troubled expression enough to keep it up until she rounded a corner and couldn't see him any longer.

Taking a deep breath and setting her shoulders, Hermione strode back the way she'd come through the corridors, pausing at the entrance to the dining room for a moment to look around before she continued walking toward the front of the house and a single large doorway that was open on the left side of the corridor.

She could hear Harry's voice in her head, the memory coming from some D.A. meeting or another, telling her to make sure she knew exactly where her wand was.

_'You've duelled Bellatrix Lestrange. Merlin, you've pretended to _be_ Bellatrix Lestrange. You can certainly handle her sister.'_

Then again, given that said sister was, in fact, her mother-in-law, she supposed it was more than a little different.

Touching the bump of her wand beneath the top layer of her robes to make Harry's voice shut up, Hermione stepped up to the doorway, stopping just beyond the threshold to knock lightly on the doorframe.

The parlour was large and square, imposing with dark panelled walls stretching up to fourteen-foot ceilings and wrapping around the room, uninterrupted save for a section of drawn eggplant curtains covering a window that probably overlooked the front gardens, and a fireplace in the wall opposite the window. A low fire popped and crackled in the grate, and just above the mantelpiece hung a large portrait of a Malfoy ancestor, his features familiar enough that Hermione assumed it was Abraxas Malfoy, Lucius' father.

Lucius sat in a large wingback chair positioned off to one side of the fireplace, facing Narcissa where she was perched in a smaller, companion chair to his, a book open on her lap. Hermione assumed they'd been talking before she came in, with her knock interrupting them to bring not only their attention to her, but the attention of the portrait as well.

Knowing all three were weighing her, Hermione took the continued silence in the room as her invitation to enter, though she didn't move very far beyond the doorway.

"Mr Malfoy. Mrs Malfoy," she greeted. Their expressions remained cool and guarded.

"Ms Granger," Narcissa said after a moment, her voice tight. Hermione noticed the change in her title, though. Nothing if not proper—and maybe, just maybe, she could win them over.

"I wanted to speak with you about my relationship with Draco."

Lucius made a noise in his throat that suggested he wasn't at all interested in what she might have to say, but Hermione's attention stuck on Narcissa, meeting the calculating look her mother-in-law was giving her.

"I can't see any reason why we should, when it comes to terms of succession, acknowledge an elopement that will lead to the production of an illegitimate heir. My son assures me, however, that this marriage is registered with the Ministry and completely legal, as far as the law is concerned."

"So you're going to try and force us to annul it," Hermione interrupted. "I fully understand what's going on, Mrs Malfoy."

"How long have you been involved with my son, Miss Granger?" Lucius asked. Narcissa's lips were tightly pinched together, a contemplative look in her eyes that didn't sit entirely well with Hermione.

"Just over two years," Hermione responded.

"And the," a bit of a hesitation as the man picked his words, disgust in the set of his features, "_marriage?_ How long has it endured?"

"Six months," Hermione bit out.

Narcissa folded her hands together on her lap. "Six months," she repeated, not sounding at all as though she hoped she hadn't heard correctly, but rather—Hermione thought, at least—a bit impressed that it had been kept from her and her husband so long. Maybe Hermione was inferring an emotion that wasn't actually there.

"I don't see how it matters," Hermione put in. "I mean, if you're just going to—"

Narcissa held up a hand to cut her off before she could get very far into _whatever_ it had been that she was going to say, which she found herself actually a little grateful for.

"Does my son make you happy, Ms Granger?"

Hermione's jaw didn't quite drop, but it was close. She was pretty sure she looked at least a little bit as shocked by the turn in conversation as Lucius did, anyway.

"Of course he does," she said, putting as much mulishness into her voice as she could. Narcissa's expression remained much the same: contemplative, calculating. Whatever else lay behind those piercing blue eyes was off limits to Hermione.

Narcissa's eyes turned downward, gaze returning to her book. "As I've already told my son tonight, neither Lucius nor I can approve of the brash actions you've taken. If you want our approval, Ms Granger, there are certain—"

"What, in _Merlin's _name, suggests I want your approval?" Hermione interrupted. "Draco and I are here tonight because as his parents, we thought you deserved to be made aware of Draco's decision. _Draco_ may certainly want your approval, but I can _assure _you, Mrs Malfoy, I've neither the need nor the desire for such a blessing!"

Oh. _Merlin. _She'd known the outburst was on the tip of her tongue, but to actually come out with it? It wasn't as if she hadn't meant every word, but it really wasn't the sort of tirade she should have gone on against her in-laws.

Narcissa met her eyes. "Then why are you here, Ms Granger?"

Hermione squared her shoulders. "To inform you that, should you make any effort to annul our union, I _will_ fight back." She looked between the two of them, thoughts of trying to win them over long gone.

"We understand one another, Miss Granger," Lucius said, looking at his wife instead of Hermione as he spoke.

Hermione wasn't entirely sure they did, but she recognised the dismissal and retreated from the room anyway, making her way back through the corridors to Draco's suite with as much haste as she could without outright running.

He was waiting for her right where she'd left him, looking as though he'd been pacing back and forth, hair a bit askew as though his hands had been run through it.

"How'd it go?" he asked, catching her by the arms and kissing her. He still sounded worried, like he'd actually thought she wouldn't come back. Not for the first time, she questioned just what sort of things he still wouldn't talk about that he'd seen growing up.

"About as well as I expected. That is, absolutely horridly, and I'm _certain_ I just confirmed any thoughts they might have had about Muggle-borns."

For a fraction of a second Draco looked upset, then the expression cleared and he simply nodded. "Back to the flat then."

Hermione nodded, letting him tuck her in against him, his arm around her waist as they departed from the manor.

-8-

An owl woke them a week later, bearing a short but eloquent note addressed to the two of them.

Narcissa Malfoy never had been able to say no to her son.

_End_

_Please review!_


End file.
